


Hungry Ghosts

by zinjadu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Scary Stories, ghost crew is family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Ahsoka tells a scary story to the crew of the Ghost, while she's haunted by ghosts of her own.  A belated Halloween themed fic.





	

Ahsoka leaned back, a cup of steaming _caf_ held between her hands, Ezra sitting back down after fetching it for her. He was a sweet boy, and in a lot of ways he reminded her of some of the young clones she had known, the shinies, the ones right out of Kamino. All earnest and eager to please.

 

They had none of his rebellious streak, however, though they had been designed not to.

 

“What about Jedi, did they have any ghost stories?” the boy asked, and she smiled, although she saw Kanan roll his eyes. She could feel what Kanan was about to say, what almost any Jedi would say: _no one exists after death, they rejoin the Force_.

 

So of course it was impossible for Jedi to have ghost stories, their entire philosophy precluded the idea.

 

“No, they don’t,” she said softly, then smiled, a slow, spreading smile, full of mischief. She saw Rex keep a lid on his amusement out the corner of her eye; he knew that smile.

 

“But my people, Togruta, we have ghost stories,” she told the crew of the _Ghost_ and let it hang there for a moment.

 

Kanan and Hera eyed each other, amused, as they watched the others. Ezra clearly wanted to ask, but didn’t want to appear too childlike. Sabine was nearly in the same boat. But Zeb beat them all to it.

 

“Aw, don’t go leaving us hanging like that,” the Lasat said, his eyes bright. “You all heard the Lasat stories, so lets hear some Togruta ones, because let’s face it, human ghost stories aren’t scary. Except Mandalorian ones,” he said, dipping his head to Sabine.

 

“Thanks Zeb,” the young Mando girl said, grinning. Sabine had regaled them all with the stories of Sith ghosts haunting Mando warriors, which qualified as scary in Ahsoka’s book, on more than one level. Lasat ghost stories tended to involve people come back to rectify some kind of dishonor in grisly ways.

 

Hera and Kanan had not ventured their own stories. They had too many ghosts already, though they listened eagerly.

 

“Well, there is one story I remember. I heard this many years ago on Shili after my akul hunt. One of my friends told it to us as we sat around the fire in the middle of a sea of turu-grass,” Ahsoka said, getting into story telling mode. It had been a long time since she had traded stories with people. She had done this with the troopers, telling them tales from her people and galactic history. They had listened as eager as younglings, and she tried not to think of the men who had marched far away.

 

Because for her, the line between the living and the dead had become very thin indeed.

 

“There was once a young warrior of the clan who had lost his huntress. She had died facing an akul that threatened the younglings, but he had arrived to late to help her. The elders told him time and time again that he was not to blame, that he would have only died beside her.

 

“‘I would have died beside her and happily!’ he yelled at them. That day he vowed to find her again.

 

“There was just one problem. He did not know how to enter into the shadowed lands of death without dying himself. You see, he did not want to die and let his sprit join her in the stars. No, that would not do for the young warrior, for he was proud. The warrior wanted to bring her back into the land of life.

 

“So he journeyed long and found a teacher.

 

“‘Why do you wish to visit the deathlands?’ the teacher asked.

 

“‘To save my huntress!’ the warrior declared. The wise teacher shook her head and told the warrior that he would not have her help. That he was too vain, too proud, and he would not find what he sought. He would only find heartache and failure. The warrior laughed at the old teacher, scorned her, and went on, looking for one who would teach him.

 

“The second teacher turned him away as well, telling the warrior that he was only thinking of himself, of his sorrow and loss. Only if he sought his love for her own sake, would he find her. The warrior denied these accusations as well, and wandered once again.

 

“Then, he came to the third teacher, a teacher great and wise. But this teacher, though they appeared kind, was not. This teacher only cared for power, and would use whatever they could to gain that power. When the warrior came before the third teacher, he was not turned away. Instead, he was given a choice: serve the teacher for many years and then learn how to cross into the lands of death.

 

“The first year was hard, but the warrior learned much. The second year was arduous, and the warrior saw the thin places, the worn places, between our world and the world of the dead. The third year was torture, and the warrior was near death himself. He asked his teacher, his master, what was happening, and the teacher smiled,” Ahsoka said, drawing her own face into a grisly grin.

 

“‘Why, my boy, your life is feeding mine. I am rather old, but with your energy, I shall be young again,’ the teacher said, but the warrior was strong. He broke away from the teacher, lacking the ability to kill him. Now the warrior still mourned his huntress, but more, he burned with the desire for revenge on the teacher who used him and delayed his quest.

 

“But now the warrior was more a wraith than man, and he haunted the turu-grass, moaning into the wind for his lost love and his betrayal at the hands of someone he should not have trusted.

 

“Until, one day, a huntress wandered into the grasses. She was tall and graceful, with beautiful montrals. He watched her, and she reminded him of his huntress. Day after day, she returned to hunt, and he watched her. He became convinced she _was_ his huntress. So, one day, he appeared before her, a gaunt and wasted thing.

 

“‘What are you?’ she asked, raising her spear.

 

“He tried to speak, but he could not. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, that she was a glorious huntress, but all that he could do was moan and reach for her, a horrific version of a lover.

 

“The huntress reacted quickly, stabbing him with her spear. It was then he saw what he had become, because the spear passed through him. For the warrior was already dead,” Ahsoka intoned.

 

“He lunged forward,” she snapped, reaching for Ezra and Sabine, making them jump and Zeb laugh. “He lunged and his hands had become claws, grasping, reaching, killing the huntress and eating her.” Then she leaned back, taking up her cup of _caf_ again, signaling that the story was over.

 

“Ugh! You can’t do that to us! What about his huntress? And the teacher? What happened to everyone?” Ezra demanded.

 

“For once I agree with Ezra,” Sabine drawled. “You can’t just leave it there, that’s not a proper story.” Ahsoka merely smiled and raised her brow. Then she laughed.

 

“It isn’t, I suppose, to you. It is only part of the story, and the first story for the Festival of Hungry Ghosts on Shili,” she said. “There are others, but I think its gotten rather late and we need to be ready to run that mission tomorrow.”

 

“Ahsoka’s right,” Hera put in. “Time for bed, kids.” And then it was usual nightly back and forth between everyone, and Ahsoka again felt like she was back with the 501st. She made her way back to her own bunk and was about to sleep when she heard a knock on her door.

 

* * *

 

Rex was a good trooper. Always had been, and so he watched Ahsoka carefully when she told her story. It was one he recalled her telling Tup and a few of others, but now there was an extra turn of sadness to the story, in her eyes and in her voice.

 

“Rex,” she said softly, backing up and letting him in. They didn’t bunk together, but their late night visits had become a semi-regular occurrence without them even talking about it. He didn’t question it, and he knew she didn’t either. It was what it was, and he was grateful that she let him as close as she did.

 

Her arms were already around his neck when he stopped her. She looked a little taken aback at that.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her blue eyes concerned only for him. He slipped one arm around her waist and brought his other hand up to stroke her cheek.

 

“Not wrong with me, ‘Soka,” he said. “Saw your face, heard your voice. You have a few ghosts of your own.”

 

She smiled sadly.

 

“Don’t we both?” she asked.

 

“Sure as hell we do, but let the ghosts rest. Stay with the living,” he implored of her. “Stay with me.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Rex,” she told him, and he decided to believe her.


End file.
